6 Murder at the Art & Craft Fair

by Steve Demaree

  How ironic it was that Kincaid’s puzzle held together better than his head, but my guess is that Edmonds was right. I think he was hit with one of his puzzles, and I don’t think it broke apart. I quit thinking when I realized the Edmonds was still talking.

  “Well, I didn’t do it. I liked the guy. My guess is it was whoever dashed across the park just after I came out of his tent. Probably someone was waiting there just for that purpose. I wonder how long they waited.”

  I was pretty sure we had the time down right. My guess was he was murdered sometime around 8:00, after everybody but the murderer had cleared out, but before the security couple arrived. I wanted to talk to them anyway, but I didn’t expect to learn much. I’d already talked to most of my suspects, and while I’d learn a few things, I hadn’t learned enough. One thing I had learned, however. Sometimes it’s a lot easier to figure out what time the murder took place than it is to find out who did it.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Figuring that we had learned all that we were going to learn at that moment, Lou and I got up to leave and we bid Edmonds adieu. Edmonds didn’t seem guilty, but then we’d been over all of that before. Our murderer could turn out to be our most likely or least likely suspect, but our murderer would turn out to be someone. Regardless of whom our murderer was, if Edmonds had a messed-up neighbor, I’d yet to meet her, so Lou and I sat out in front of Edmond’s house discussing the case for a few minutes. I hoped that Edmonds had gone back to his puzzle.

  “Well, Lou. Another one down and a few more to go. What says you this time?”

  “This guy doesn’t seem any guiltier than Joan Arrington, so I guess the two of them were in on it together. I’m ready to cuff them. How about you?”

  My thoughts turned to the one I was ready to cuff, but she was off in another part of Hilldale, hopefully missing me as much as I was missing her. I planned to question only one other suspect that day, so I planned to stop by the house and call Jennifer before I headed out into the country to see if she and Thelma Lou wanted to have dinner with two confused guys. But first, it was time to pay attention to Lou, again.

  “Earth to Cy. Are you with me here?”

  “Sorry, Lou, I was busy thinking about the one I want to cuff.”

  “Is that cuff as in not let her get away, or cuff as in hit up the side of the head?”

  I laughed.

  “Well, Lou, I must admit I’ve got names on both of those lists. But back to the suspect list. What are you thinking?”

  “It seems like everyone we’ve talked to so far either seems like they definitely did it, or there’s no way he or she did it. I’m just trying to figure out which list the murderer is actually on.”

  “Let me tell you what I’m thinking, Lou. I’m thinking there were a lot of people around that tent after things closed down on Saturday night, but before that security couple arrived. We know that Edmonds was there, that Joan Arrington was there, and that that bird I haven’t gotten ahold of yet, Delbert Cross, was there. Earl Clements even changed his story to say that he was there. And I’d be willing to bet that the guy we’re on our way to see in a little bit, Vernon Pitts, was still around there somewhere, fuming. We’re not sure about Delmont or Lois Weddington, but one of them could have been there, and could be the murderer we are looking for.

  As I was getting ready to pull away, I looked up at the house we’d just left. Edmonds stood just inside the front door watching us. Was this a guilty man watching, or one who was merely curious?

  +++

  I drove through town, planning to stop by my place for a minute before heading out to no man’s land to see what story Vernon Pitts would tell me. I looked up and saw George Michaelson getting out of his car. I blew the horn, motioned for him to wait for a minute.

  “Well, if it isn’t the sand art duo. How are things at the beach?”

  “George, unlike you, we’re working here, so could you please let up on this sand box stuff?”

  “So, Mr. Crime Solver, what do you need me to help you with today?”

  “Are you familiar with Crawdad Lane?”

  “What’s the matter? You got a date with Vernon Pitts?”

  “Why Vernon Pitts? Is he the only one who lives on Crawdad Lane?”

  “As a matter of fact, he is. Well, he and that delinquent son of his. Cy, in that family, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.”

  “What’s Pitts done?”

  “Well, he’s meaner than a snake, been known to hit someone over the head with a bottle, whether he’s drunk or sober. If you’re on your way out to see him, I wouldn’t turn my back on him if I were you. Keep your weapon where you can get at it easily.”

  “Well, we are on our way out to see Pitts. I’ve never been out that way and don’t know much about that part of the county. What can you tell me about it?”

  “Well, it’s isolated. Not like Precipice Point. But it’s way out almost to the end of Fog Bottom Road. In case you don’t know, Fog Bottom dead-ends at the river. Just before you get to the end, there’s this dirt road that heads off to the right. That’s Crawdad Lane. It’s just one lane, trees on both sides, and it’s a little more than a mile long. Pitts lives at the end of it. There used to be a couple of other houses on that road, but the people moved out and those houses have pretty much fallen apart. So has Pitts’s place, but it still has a roof over it. But that’s his business, as long as he stays out there and doesn’t bother anyone. Actually, there’s almost no one out there for him to bother. You have to come back toward town on Fog Bottom a couple of miles before you find a house. It’s pretty much a worthless field on one side of the road, nothing but trees on the other. The road’s narrow, too. So, if I were you, I’d make sure I’d be back in town before dark. You’ve seen the movie Deliverance, haven’t you, Cy?”

  I wondered if George was telling the truth, or if this was another of his ways to get the best of Lou and me.

  “So, George, you interested in riding out there with us?”

  “No, I love my family too much. But if you don’t make it back, Cy, can I have your sand art?”

  “That and the sandbox too, George. I really appreciate the gift. And Lou here has enjoyed his Tinker toys, too.”

  “Someone giving you gifts, too, Cy?”

  I told George that some of us still have to work for a living, and that I’d better get started, because I just might have a hot date after I got back. George laughed.

  I looked at my watch. Just in case George was telling the truth, I wanted to get out to Pitts’s place and back by 7:00. I still had time to run by the house, and so I did, went in and called Jennifer’s cell phone.

  “Interested in a date tonight?”

  “I guess so. Who is this?”

  “Very funny.”

  “So, have you and Lou already solved your murder?”

  “Not yet. We’re about to drive out in the country and see this one other bird. Then, we’ll save the rest of them for tomorrow. We plan to be back by around 7:00. Interested in a late dinner?”

  “If I say ‘no’ does that mean you’re coming on now?”

  “I wish. A cop’s work is never done.”

  “It had better be by 7:00. Are you planning on making this a double date?”

  “What do you think? Should we let those other two lovebirds enjoy our company?”

  “Might as well. One of them has been very nice to me.”

  “Well, you tell Lou I said he’d better stop.”

  Jennifer laughed.

  “Cy, has anyone ever told you that you’re funny?”

  “Yes, I have, many times.”

  “Well don’t stop telling yourself. And you be careful. I’ll worry about you until you get here.”

  “Maybe you should worry about me after I get there.”

  Jennifer laughed again.

  I told her we’d better start grilling our suspects if she wanted to get to dinner before all the restaurants closed. I hurried back to the car, where Lou h
ad waited for me.

  “It took you long enough, Cy. Did you get to say all of your sweet nothings?”

  “No, I’ve saved a couple of them for later. Now, are you ready to go and talk to the bad guys?”

  “I’d rather talk about the good girls.”

  +++

  There are many roads you can take leading away from downtown Hilldale, but only four of them lead out of the county. The others resemble a maze which meander this way and that, before arriving at a dead-end, causing whoever takes them to backtrack to get somewhere. Some of these roads are well populated. Some are even dotted with a new subdivision or two. But others are sparsely populated by anything other than a few four-legged creatures they won’t let you keep in town. While the drive out to Precipice Point is quite scenic, I soon learned that the same can’t be said about the drive out Fog Bottom Road. The left side of the road as you head out of town is littered with unkempt bushes and fields much in need of upkeep. The right side of the road is deep with trees, but even the trees look like they’ve had better years, and most of those trees are dead, even in the spring and summer. It’s as if whoever owns the property died years ago and no one thinks the upkeep is worth it. If someone is traveling out Fog Bottom Road all the way to the end, even if that person is in a good mood when he or she leaves town, they will become depressed before the drive is over. Our late Monday afternoon drive consisted of taking the road almost to the end, then turning off onto a road that looked even worse. That is, if you want to call Crawdad Lane a road. It doesn’t qualify as one in my book.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The drive out County Road 1628 wasn’t too bad. The ups, downs, and curves reminded me of a children’s rollercoaster, but that was better than an adult version. The farther away from town we got, the narrower the road became. There wasn’t more than a foot on either side of the road before the terrain inclined before leveling off. There were plenty of trees and greenery on both sides of the road, but I was too busy staying on the road to take in the scenery. Few people lived out County Road 1628, so we encountered no one on their way into town. After a few miles, the road descended, as did the scenery. Lush green turned to brown. Dead trees abounded.

  Things changed again when we turned off onto Fog Bottom Road. As we turned right and dipped down onto Fog Bottom, I noticed that the road had been paved, but not in this century. I also noticed that the road was wide enough to permit oncoming traffic, provided both vehicles were bicycles, or maybe one bicycle and one riding mower. Or, considering where we were, maybe a tractor. I didn’t panic. I didn’t feel that two people would be dumb enough to try this road on the same day. Maybe no one else had been out there in the last year. And then I remembered Vernon Pitts. I said a little prayer, asking God not to let Pitts leave his residence until after Lou and I were safely back in town.

  Desolate was the word that came to mind when I looked from one side of the road to the other. It looked as if the locusts had been here and they hadn’t left anything behind. I figured any property out this way had to look better than the vegetation. That was until I saw “the property.”

  I looked off to the left and saw a trailer; faded blue, white, and rust, and cramped. It was in such sorry shape, that if its residents decided to camp out it would be an upgrade. Not even a real estate agent with a flair for the English language and a penchant for lying could make that place sound habitable, and yet, I was pretty sure I saw a light on inside. I just knew that I didn’t plan on knocking on the front door and asking for directions. I’d seen enough movies to know I shouldn’t do that in a place like the one where I found myself. I was sure that when snow fell there in the winter, the color of the snow would be gray.

  I drove on. I believe I had one hand on the wheel and the other on my gun. I was sure that if we did encounter someone named Vernon Pitts that there would be a graveyard next to his house, and there would be two open graves, already dug, for Lou and me. I wondered if we could get back-up quicker than Pitts could dig a couple more graves.

  I tried to rid my mind of such thoughts and focused on Jennifer. When I did, things seemed to change to a lighter shade of pale. I didn’t cheer up for long. My mind clicked back to the matter at hand. I wondered if anyone would ever find our bodies. I knew that someday, when fast food restaurants inhabited this part of the county, that someone would find Lightning, pale yellow and rust, with her doors tore off and her hubcaps removed. But then I couldn’t remember if she had hubcaps.

  We traveled almost a mile before I looked off to the left and saw a burned-out trailer. I doubted if the locusts had done that. It must have been Freddie, Jason, or the Indians. I wondered if the former residents of that trailer had moved to the place we had just passed. The only other building we saw on that road, and I use the term building loosely, was a small house that looked like it was only one termite short of the roof collapsing to the floor. I was sure that no one lived there, and doubted if anyone had since Garfield (the President, not the cat) was shot, which might have coincided with the last time the road was paved. But then I figured only one vehicle traveled that road each day. At least on a normal day. The day I was there, the road traffic doubled, provided Pitts had left his abode to go to work.

  With nothing else to do, and a flat road in front of me, I decided to name the area where we found ourselves. As I drove on, I named both sides of the road. The right side I named Dead Tree Acres. It was nothing but flat land with lots of trees with no leaves. The left side I named, Past Its Prime Estates. At one time, probably during the California gold rush, the left side of the road was home to two trailers and somewhat of a house. If I’d surmised correctly, the population had decreased by two-thirds. I didn’t figure that anyone would ever bother the other third, and that person lived much closer to civilization than Vernon Pitts, provided there was a Vernon Pitts.

  I looked over at Lou. He thought my look meant it was his turn to talk.

  “Cy, couldn’t we just give this guy a call and have him come in and answer our questions?”

  “That’s fine with me, Lou. Holler loud.”

  “Huh?”

  “He doesn’t have a phone.”

  “Not even up on the telephone pole.”

  “Do you see any telephone poles out here, Lou?”

  Lou felt the question meant it was time for him to shut his mouth. I didn’t even have to remind him that we didn’t have a phone, either. Well, I had my monstrosity at home, but the cord didn’t reach as far as Fog Bottom Road. I made a note to call and see how much a longer cord cost, but then I didn’t think I’d make a second trip out this way, even if I lived to tell about it.

  Things continued on a downward spiral until I passed a dirt road, well hidden, because it was on the dead tree side of the road, and there were a lot of dead trees.

  As we zipped by, Lou asked, “Do you think that could have been his road, Cy?”

  “Did you see a sign that said it was a road? I didn’t. Anyway, George said Pitts’s road is just before this road dead ends. If we get to the end of this road without seeing another dirt something or other, I won’t drive on into the river. I promise you that. Instead, I’ll turn around, and we’ll go back and explore that path you saw.”

  A few seconds later, we realized that it was indeed Vernon Pitts’ road that we had passed. We also learned that the brush on both sides of the road grew close enough to the road that there was no place wide enough for me to turn around.

  I stopped, looked over at Lou, and decided I didn’t want to park with him. So, I backed up slowly until I passed that dirt path a second time. This time I signaled so that all the buzzards would know what my intentions were and turned onto a bumpy dirt path that was worse than anything we had encountered up to that point, if that was possible. Actually, there was an occasional piece of gravel left over from the previous regime, but that didn’t make the going any better. There was no need to post a speed limit sign. I wasn’t sure that Lightning was going to hold up at the five miles
per hour I was driving. I contemplated having Lou get out and push us to Pitts’s place. Instead, I asked him another question.

  “Should we park here and walk, Lou?”

  The look he gave me told me his answer without him uttering a word. We trudged on, bouncing this way and that. George had told me the “road” was a little over a mile long. I looked at my watch and figured I had time to ask Pitts two questions when we finally got there and still get back to that finely paved Fog Bottom Road before dark. And then I thought I heard a noise. I couldn’t tell if the two banjos I heard playing were real, or merely figments of my imagination. If someone was coming after me, they were going to have to run at least five miles an hour, or have a gun. If they started shooting, I was going to have Lou lean out the window and shoot back, to hold them off for a while. I didn’t know how many bullets he had, but I was sure it was more than Barney Fife’s one. I also wasn’t sure how good of a shot Lou was. It had been some time since we’d had target practice, and he wasn’t moving away from the target the last time he shot. And then I remembered. Not only didn’t I know how good of a shot Lou was, but neither would our attackers. Maybe one shot would send them on their way. I guess we could circle the VWs if someone started shooting at us, but then we didn’t have enough bugs to circle. I guess we could get out and hide behind Lightning, unless Vernon Pitts started shooting at us from the other direction. Oh, well. I gave up thinking and trudged on, one rut at a time.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The country musicians only had time to play the song five or six times before I heard a different sound in the distance. Evidently we were getting close to Pitts’s place. We passed the end of the row of dead trees and I spotted a house in the distance. It was one a realtor would have trouble renting, but it looked better than anything I’d seen since I turned off the county road. I could almost hear the winter wind whistling through the cracks. I studied those cracks to see if someone had a shotgun pointed at us. I didn’t see one, so we pressed on those final few feet. Someone had laid boards where grass usually grew. I wondered if those boards used to be part of the house. I realized that out there boards were essential. In case it rained and you didn’t want to get mud between your toes. It was that kind of place. I remembered the comments George had shared with me about Pitts, so I made sure I had my gun with me. I also located the noise we’d heard on our way down the bouncing path. I looked over and saw the delinquent pounding nails into a tree stump. He looked up. We got out. Cautiously.